


fighting is easy, young man. coping is harder.

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-War, Sleep Deprivation, Trauma, noooo wilbur you cant just sacrifice your mental health for your country your so sexy ahahaha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: Wilbur chuckled tiredly, the sound nowhere near positive. “Sleep doesn’t come so easy anymore.” It was meant to be a joke, something to be humorous, but it fell flat, a heavy tone following its delivery. Everyone else seemed to be recovering from their night terrors with ease, but Wilbur was just deteriorating. Maybe he was just bitter.--The war is over, but Wilbur doesn't feel free. Tommy stumbles across him in a terrible state.[This work is a standalone oneshot, despite it being in a series.]
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: The Tides of War (Dream SMP Season One) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909273
Comments: 10
Kudos: 331





	fighting is easy, young man. coping is harder.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm surprised more people aren't capitalising on the fact that war traumatises people.  
> Anyway I wrote this instead of studying can I get an immaturity pog

Wilbur tried to present himself as a proud, strong leader. He was really good at it, too. From the outside, he looked like a well put together leader with no lasting issues from the Great War. A pinnacle of honour, so to speak.

He spoke with charisma pouring out of every syllable, led like he’d been born to stand at the forefront of a nation, moved as if he were always on top on things. Perhaps he appeared cold, standoffish, and prickly, but it was a necessary sacrifice for the good of his nation. If he hid himself behind the finely crafted mask of an excellent president, L’Manburg would thrive.

Even after the war’s end and the beginning of peacetime, there was no end to his work. The bow duel for their freedom had left his right-hand man out of action for a good week or so, even with the aid of their few remaining healing potions. Wilbur worked by the side of Tommy’s medical bed for that scary period, signing documents and planning for renovations all while keeping an eye on his wounded form.

Sometimes he was awake, and they made light conversation, relaxing in the dawn of peace, but somehow, the new president knew he’d never be the same again. Even after the arrow wounds healed, there’d still be a permanent scar left over. No matter how perfectly their physical wounds faded away, the ache would forever remain.

Tommy had come so close to death, Wilbur thought. And it’d all been his fault. He’d placed a child in the line of fire because he’d been too much of a coward to point a sword at Dream in the first place.

(Working in the medical bay was not very productive, in the end.)

Sleep deprivation ran rampant among the ranks of the war heroes, and Wilbur was no exception. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured himself in the underground bunker, holed in with no hope of freedom left. Or, he remembered the final control room, the feeling of being stabbed in the back and left for dead by his own fighter. The fear pulled in like a cloak, enveloping and consuming the leader until nothing else remained.

He kept that a secret, though.

L’Manburg didn’t need to know about his personal struggles, after all. They needed a leader to guide them to prosperity, and Wilbur was going to be that leader. All they needed to see was his mask of capability, strapped on tight so nobody would see the crumbling man behind it.

As long as his citizens had faith in his presidency, he could keep going. It was worth it to see his friends and allies finally happy.

Everyone seemed to be recovering, too. Newcomers blended with the veterans, letting the nation bloom into something better. They got pets, made homes for themselves, formed friendships. Wilbur watched from a distance, a faint sense of melancholy tugging at his heart. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t happy, he decided. The people were more important in the end.

And – so what if anything that sounded like a fuse burning sent him into a state of mindless panic? So what if he could not relax around fire? So what if he spent every night staring at the ceiling, irrational fear coursing through his nerves like electricity? The people trusted him to lead competently, and lead competently he would.

-

“Sir? You’re still awake?” The sound of Tommy’s voice snapped Wilbur out of his mind. The vice president must just have been finishing some work - he was still in uniform. The cold wind that blew over the wall sent a shiver down the president’s spine as he stood atop the mighty blackstone border walls that made up his nation.

“There’s a lot of work to do,” he answered, staring blankly out over the forests that nestled against L’Manburg’s walls.

“But, it’s almost morning,” Tommy said, checking his watch. “I’ve – I’ve just woken up, it’s basically morning.”

Huh. It was later – earlier? - than Wilbur had thought. At best, he was under the impression it was still 11pm. The leader sighed a deep, affected sigh, slumping into a sitting position against where he was leaning on the blackstone. Startled by the movement, Tommy moved to sit beside him, cross legged.

“Don’t you have to work in like an hour?” Tommy asked, brow furrowed. He sounded genuinely concerned, voice much quieter than when he was trying to impress Tubbo or Niki or Fundy.

Wilbur chuckled tiredly, the sound nowhere near positive. “Sleep doesn’t come so easy anymore.” It was meant to be a joke, something to be humorous, but it fell flat, a heavy tone following its delivery. Everyone else seemed to be recovering from their night terrors with ease, but Wilbur was just deteriorating. Maybe he was just bitter.

Staying out all night, where he could sleep for maybe fifteen minutes at a time – that was how Wilbur had beaten the demons of the night. It still exhausted him, but it allowed him to function.

There was a long, tense silence as Tommy processed the words.  
“You.. You come up here lots, then?” he asked tentatively, suddenly aware he was walking on eggshells with the conversation topic.

“Every night since the war ended.” The response was as cold as Wilbur felt. He was drained, shoulders slumped pathetically – a far cry from how he presented when leading. He ought to not be sharing this at all, really, but sleep deprivation had long since removed his mask tonight. The leader’s limbs felt lifeless, as if he were merely a forgotten plush doll.

“Holy shit.” The response from Tommy was breathed out in a sad, concerned awe.  
There was the pity response, from a sixteen year old of all people. Suddenly, Wilbur wished he’d taken up drinking as a bad habit. His mind felt coldly clear despite the rapidly approaching haze of sleepiness, and its promises of fear.

He withdrew in on himself, shivering involuntarily. The leader wanted to sleep so badly, but he didn’t want to face what the dreams would bring again. His head drooped despite itself, snapping back up to attention every couple of seconds.

“I’ll be – I’ll be okay,” Wilbur said, but the words came out muddled by exhaustion. “Leave me here. I’ll be fine.” ('Stop worrying about me. You’re the future of the nation, you have more important things to concern yourself with.' He wanted to say that aloud, too, but the words never left his mouth.)

Abruptly, Tommy stood up. For a moment, Wilbur thought he was actually going to leave, but the vice president instead moved to help him rise to his feet, shuffling as he realised just how out of it his leader was. 

“Come on, big man.” he said, voice slightly strained under the effort of supporting his superior. “I’m not gonna leave you to die. We need you.”

Slowly, the two shuffled down the wall’s staircase, the consequences of too much missed sleep hitting Wilbur like a ton of bricks as the world seemed to fade in and out of darkness around him. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead he clung to his vice president – his brother in arms, or even just his brother in general – stumbling towards the sleeping quarters of L’Manburg.

Wordlessly, Tommy hauled his leader in, pausing in the doorway for a moment. Everyone else was still asleep – the younger boy only woke up so early because he liked to watch the sun rise over L’Manburg. Moving to where Fundy, Niki, and Tubbo had fallen asleep in a pile, the young vice president draped Wilbur onto the mattress, noting with a sorrowful pang to the chest how weak and lifeless he felt in his grasp.

“Just sleep, Wilbur,” he said, as he watched the president attempt to get back up fruitlessly. “I’ll do your work today, I’m just awesome and cool and considerate like that.”

The proximity of the sleeping team members was surprisingly soothing, a far cry from what it felt like to try and sleep alone.

“…Thank you.” Wilbur spoke with a barely audible whisper, allowing himself to relax for the first time in what must be months.

Tommy just gave a thumbs up. “No problem, chief. Can’t farm primes if you’re dead on your feet.” He sounded optimistic, but even through the haze he could tell there was a barely masked haze of concern painted on the teen’s face even as he left to start his routine.

Sighing resignedly, the general pushed his face into the mattress, and, after a quick prayer to the Sky Gods, fell into a total slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :)  
> if theres a typo. no there isnt


End file.
